Underground
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Lena didn't consider herself to be a hero. But growing up in King's Row, a hotbed of anti-omnic sentiment that was close to breaking point...well, there were no shortage of opportunities to rise to the occasion.


**Underground**

The thing about King's Row was that you spent most of the time in shadow.

It was an oddity in London – the one piece of the city that had remained stuck in time. It had stayed that way up to the Omnic Crisis, and even as much of the city was rebuilt after the war, it had retained its essence while the silver spires of progress went up all around it. But with its narrow streets and over-arching roofs, the people here lived in shadow a lot of the time, whether the sun be in the east or west. Only at midday, when the sun was at its peak, was light fully bequeathed upon the people who lived here. And eventually, it would arc west, its light hidden by the buildings, and night would come. A sky lit up in a blue-orange glow, while in the streets, bulbs did their nightly dance. The sun might provide its light, but the stars were beyond their eyes.

Lena hadn't been born here (that place was Prince Albert Hospital, ten kilometres away), but she'd lived here all her life. She knew where the shadows would be, and when. Every nook, every cranny, every street, every alley. It was why she could barely contain her laughter as she peaked out from the garbage bin at Tom Parsons yelling at the two police officers about the "thief," or the "brat," or words that would have caused a person of a different disposition to blush. She could tell that Parsons was angry (_good_, she reflected), and that the two police officers with their hats and overcoats really didn't want to be here. King's Row was for a different type of police officer – the type that didn't go strolling around Greater London with naught but a baton and a badge. The police here had better (or at least, different) things to worry about. So, still smirking, she watched as the police took down the details, and bid Mister Parsons a good evening, before walking off.

_Take your time in coming back, _Lena thought. She watched as Parsons stood there, hands on his hips, pacing around like a mad bull. _Come on mate. Out with it._

Parsons let out a word that gave even Lena pause, before heading off back to his shop. For a moment, Lena felt a stab of fear. It wasn't the first time she'd stolen stuff. It wasn't even the first time she'd stolen from Tom Parsons. And while she had little to fear from the police, there was still the chance that someone would put two and two together, snitch to Parsons or the Met, and send the coppers to her door like something out of a Dickens novel. Granted, it wasn't as if she was in an orphan house, but with dear ol dad spending most of his time being anything other than an actual father, well…

She climbed out of the garbage bin. She didn't want to think about her father right now. And if he didn't want to do anything other than rant at the government, the country, and everything that constituted both, well, that was fine. Some relationships were built on an understanding that neither party actually wanted to talk to each other.

Others of course, were more mutual.

* * *

"So, did you actually pay for any of this?"

Lena frowned. She could tell that Emily was upset with her. Hence, she uttered, "well, you know me Em. Getting stuff for you is priceless." She tore open one of the plastic bags and handed it to her. "Jammy dodger?"

After a moment, Emily took it and began chewing. Lena smiled – if there was one thing that Emily liked more than moral outrage, it was her sweet tooth.

"Stimou," Emily said in-between mouthfuls.

Lena blinked. "Pardon?"

Emily cleared her throat. "I'm still mad at you."

And the smile faded. "Right. Sure." Lena sat down on the roof top and opened the pack of jelly babies. "Well, just get it out then."

"Lena, come on. We're not twelve anymore."

"No, we're seventeen. Or, least I am - you'll be seventeen in three months' time." She shoved a mouth full of jelly babies into her mouth, finding the sudden urge to find a scarf and top hat for some reason. "Didn't think thievery had an age limit."

"No, but you think that age won't matter when you're brought before a judge?"

"When?" Lena looked at Emily as she sat down beside her. "Didn't think you had such a low opinion of me."

"I don't. But it only has to happen once."

Lena shrugged. "One more year, then I'm out of this place." She looked up at the spires that towered over the neighbourhood. "Few years after that, I'll be higher than even those buildings."

Emily didn't say anything. Lena suspected that it was in part due to having heard the hopes and dreams speech more often than she cared for, even for someone who was a very good listener. The other part was that she was enjoying more of the jammy dodgers.

The people of King's Row spent most of their time in shadows. This evening, she'd used the shadows as her friends. But the shadows that came from the sun (or lack of it) were often secondary to the feeling of being left in shadows of a different kind. That beyond this place was a better world. Where one could sit on rooftops like this and stare at the buildings that reached up to the sky. At the air traffic that wove among them, like bees at a hive, serving their queen. Some smartarse might have corrected her to "king," given who wore the crown these days, but for Lena, the point remained. King's Row was part of a world that didn't even exist anymore. It was a world that hadn't even existed even before the Omnic Crisis. Sometimes, that had its charm. Other times, the analogy of insects returned in her mind. If the hover-cars in the sky above were like bees, then what did that make her but an ant?

_One year, _Lena told herself. _One more year, and I'll be on my way to doing push ups in the mud, shining boots, and learning how to fly._

Emily had moved on to more of the loot she'd snuck from Parsons. A magazine where on the front cover read _Iris: Inside the World's Newest Religion_.

"Can robots even really have a religion?" Emily asked. She turned the magazine around to show Lena the pages, corresponding to the blurb on the front page. "I mean, I didn't think omnics needed to know about why they're here and where they came from?"

Lena shrugged, eating more jelly babies. Finding that they were making her thirsty, she opened one of the beers she'd snuck out as well.

"We are all one within The Iris," Emily read out. "Those are the words for Tekhartha Mondatta, whom I met with in my one month sojourn in Nepal. The omnic went on to explain that The Iris was the Great Lens from which all life was beheld by the Creator, organic and machine alike. Through The Iris, we may all see each other for who and what we are – children of the universe." She lowered the magazine. "Is he for real?"

Lena lowered her beer. "Something wrong?"

"No, but…" Emily picked up a dodger. "Come on Lena, it's bull. Omnics don't need to look for God, they know everything they need to about their origins."

"Could say the same for humans," Lena murmured.

"Come on – crawling down from trees millions of years ago? Life forming on Earth billions of years ago? Origins of the universe billions of more years ago? That's different." Emily went back to reading from the magazine. "Walking through the monetary, I was assaulted by all manner of smells. Even though the monks can't eat, and have no need for sustenance, all members are trained in the preparation of meals across all variety of cultures. Through the preparation of food, Mondatta said, we all partake in the same feast on the table that is called life." Emily wiped her eye, on the edge of laughing. "I can't. No, seriously, I can't do this."

Lena took another sip of beer, trying to hide her unease.

"Lena, don't tell me you buy into this nonsense."

She lowered the can – a bitter taste was on her tongue, and it wasn't just because of the poison she was drinking. "I don't need to believe in something to respect it."

"Right. So, you _do _respect the idea that there's some great eye that we can't see where some cosmic entity looks upon us all." Emily grabbed one of the beers herself. "Come on. I figure if there's some mystical sky daddy, he doesn't need glasses."

Had she been feeling better, Lena might have asked why God needed to be male. Instead, she took another sip of beer, finding that it still tasted terrible.

"Lena?" Emily asked. "You okay?"

"Fine."

"You sure? Because usually you'd ask about God's plumbing."

"I said I'm fine." She took out another magazine from her backpack. "Here. Plenty of girls there for you if you're after plumbing."

She could see that her words had cut deep. But she told herself she didn't care. And also that the mix of alcohol and sugar wasn't having an adverse effect on her.

Thing was, on an objective level, Emily was right, as far as she was concerned. She didn't put much stock on God, or gods, or spirits, or any of the thousands of beliefs that had risen and fallen over the history of the world. If the 21st century had another one added to it, then it had every right to be preached, evaluated, and yes, even ridiculed, like any other belief. But even so, she had to admit, that she liked the idea. That decades after the Omnic Crisis, that a bridge of some kind could be formed. Omnics had been created for one thing – labour. Nowadays, they were left to find their own purpose. If that purpose was in attaining spiritual enlightenment, or making food, or anything else, then she didn't feel that she could judge them. And if this omnic could spread his message, if he could do what twenty years of attempted reconciliation had failed to do, then who was she to judge?

Also her father hated omnics. That was more than enough reason to hear the Shambali out. She took one final sip of the beer and dropped it into the street below. It bounced on the trashcan, and fell on the street.

"Nice," Emily murmured. She looked at Lena. "I mean, that you hit the can at all. Not the whole littering thing."

"Well, when the Greens send my application letter back to me, I'll be sure to let you know," Lena said. "Of course, when I…"

She trailed off. Emily, who'd taken another dodger, had left her mouth open. A clock was sounding.

_Dong. Dong. Dong._

Lena grunted. "That time already then?"

_Dong. Dong. Dong._

"Yep," said Emily. "It's-"

_Dong._

"…that time." She put the dodger in her mouth. "Curfew." She gave a nervous glance around. Lena laughed and patted her on the shoulder.

"Cheer up Em. Doesn't affect us."

Emily didn't answer. And for all her outward cheer, Lena felt like dying inside.

Curfew. 7pm, or 1900 hours if you were like her father. That point in time when all omnics had to be off the streets of King's Row. To head to the Underground. Curfew had fluctuated over the years, in accordance with the ebb and flow of omnic-human tensions within the United Kingdom, but here, at least, omnics had to be off the streets at some point regardless. And to help enforce it, down on the street below, Lena could see a pair of officers walking down it. Not the type of officers she'd seen earlier, but the type of officers that wore military grade helmets, carried automatic rifles, and wore body armour. Officers that were less Metropolitan Police, and more military police. The type of officers that had been in King's Row for as long as she could remember, and over the course of her life, had deployed in force at various times to deal with unrest. Sometimes human, sometimes omnic, sometimes both.

"Parsons will be pleased," Emily murmured, looking down on the coppers. She looked at Lena. "That's the reason you keep stealing from him, right? The whole anti-chrome dome thing?"

"He's got a sign on his door that says humans only," Lena said. "I'm just obliging by giving him a customer."

"That's an interesting way of looking at things."

"No, not really. Parsons is a wanker. I don't like wankers." She looked aside. "It's why I can't wait to get away from my dad."

"By joining the RAF. Like he did."

"I get away from him and I get to surpass him, while I honour the family name or some twaddle," Lena murmured. "Win-win for everyone."

Emily was looking uneasy, and Lena fought the urge to groan. She knew what was coming. She'd heard this speech for years. For some reason, Emily had the belief that just because she was a good listener, her significant other was as well.

"Lena…you know your dad…it's not his fault, right?"

"Emily, don't."

"I'm not excusing everything, but-"

"I know, I know, fighter pilot, war, screaming, bed wetting, the works," Lena said. "I'm still over it. He can go on about the good old days, he can go on about the robots taking our jobs, and he can keep calling me a little girl. Doesn't mean I have to put up with it. And you don't need to keep making excuses for him."

Emily didn't say anything. She just took another jammy dodger, before passing the bag to Lena. "Want one?" she asked.

Lena shook her head. She still wasn't over the beer, and the queasy feeling that had started in her belly had spread to her heart. Looking away from Emily, she turned her gaze to the street below. At the entrance to the Underground – formerly King's Row Station, converted into the entrance point for the omnic quarter. Out of sight from those above, if not out of mind.

Her father had hated it, and for a time, she'd bought into it. Over a hundred years ago, people in this city had taken to the underground as bombs fell around them. Nearly twenty years ago, they'd tried the same thing in the Omnic Crisis. That, however, hadn't turned out as well. Taking shelter from bombs was one thing. Taking shelter from surface-piercing missiles, and walkers with footsteps heavy enough to collapse the ground beneath them, was another. Like King's Row itself, its station had survived the war, but it had been given aside to the constructs who'd fought on the losing side. On one hand, it was easy to see why people would resent that. On the other, she figured that there had to come a point where the second hand in this analogy had to stop curling into a fist.

"Oh look, the bucketheads."

Today wasn't one of those days.

"That's right chrome domes, keep moving."

Or even one of those evenings. Peering down from the top of the building, Lena could see the scene unfold.

Two men, one woman, hassling two omnics who were on their way to the Underground. The thugs didn't appear to be drunk, which in a way, made them even more dangerous. One on one, a human was no match for an omnic, but in a city where humans had the law and numbers on their side, life could be made unpleasant for its mechanical residents.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

They might not have been drunk, but they certainly had drink. One of them threw a beer bottle at one of the omnics, the bottle shattering against its head. Lena winced – it wasn't as bad as that time with the cricket bat, but it was getting too close to comfort.

"Well?" one of the thugs asked. He positioned himself in front of the omnics, gesturing to the shards of glass down below. "Going to pick it up?"

Lena went to move forward, though Emily grabbed her arm. "Lena, don't," she whispered.

"Don't what?" she murmured.

"You know what," Emily hissed.

She almost followed her advice. She could leave now, go home with Em, or to her home. They could lie on the bed together, sitting on the sheets, watching movies, or, like that time last year, have some fun under the sheets. But-

"Faster, bucket head!"

But as one of the thugs pushed the omnic down into the pavement, and the other two stopped the other robot from helping, she knew what she had to do. So quick as a cat, she jumped off the building and grabbed a lamp post, before sliding down it.

_You know you're going to regret this, right?_

Possibly, she reflected as the voice in her head did its work. But there were no police around. She figured that there was just as much a chance of the thugs regretting it as her. After all, she was only outnumbered three to one.

She took a breath and walked over to the wanker trio. "Hey guys," she said.

They looked back at her, bemusement on their faces. "Hey luv. Here to join in?"

Lena glanced at the omnics, both of whom were looking up at her. With the lack of any real face, she had no idea what they were thinking, but she figured that they were afraid that the "fun" was going to be multiplied.

"Actually," she said, "just trying to point out that the whole bucket head thing doesn't make any sense. I mean, their heads don't look like buckets to me."

Some of the grins turned to frowns. "Want to find out?" one of them asked.

"Oh, yeah, that sounds great," said Lena, not trying to hide her dread. "But I mean, it's curfew, and if you want the robots off the streets, you might as well let them."

One of the thugs spat. "Robot lover. Great."

Lena's face fell. Was it really that obvious, she wondered? She stood her ground as one of the thugs walked up to her, using his size to hide what was going on behind him. "Run off girl," he said. "Business don't want you brownnosing."

"Oh, my nose is clean," he said.

"Yeah?" He brought his face up to hers. "Then let's keep it that way."

"Hmm." She glanced around, looking for any police (none) or Em (not to be found), before meeting his gaze again. "Sure. But a shame about your nose."

"What do you mean about my-"

Lena brought her forehead forward, hitting his nose with a loud crack. To finish it off, she gave him a knee between his legs, before shoving him forward. Wasn't exactly fighting fair, but as long as the fight was hers to win, she was fine with that.

The other thugs were yelling something. The omnic on the ground was helped up to its feet by its counterpart. Lena met their diodes, hoping that they'd stand and fight, but realized in an instant that that wouldn't be happening. They might be grateful. They might thank her one day. But they knew their place in this world. The Underground was their domain. Fitting, for constructs that so many considered to be beneath dirt. She could sympathize, but again, two people closing in on her, plus a third getting to his feet again.

"Well," she murmured, "least there's no cricket bats."

It was cold comfort as it descended into a brawl. There weren't bats, or knives, or bails, or balls (well, not of the sporting kind), but there were fists, there were legs, and there was a hell of a lot of muscle. She kicked, she punched, she spat, she bit, and she told herself that she was doing quite well before she was tackled to the ground. Before the blows started coming. Before she started to lose consciousness. Before she heard the faint voice of someone screaming, and the much louder sound of police sirens, followed by footsteps scampering away. And lying there, with one black eye, one broken nose, an aching chest, and the urge to throw up, she heard the sound of footsteps – two figures in black, cast in a red and blue light. Figures that stopped by her and looked down at her as well, looks of disdain shining through the gloom.

"Oh look," Lena groaned. "The cavalry's here."

* * *

Two hours, forty minutes, and fifty-two seconds later, Lena Oxton was sitting in a room at the King's Row Constabulary. Before her was a table, a cup of tea, and nothing else. Around her was a mirror, a door, and three walls, plus a chair on the table's other side. Two hours, forty minutes, and fifty-five seconds ago, she'd been hauled to her feet, put into the police car, and driven here by two coppers who she'd protested should have gone after the real criminals. And two hours, forty minutes, and fifty-eight seconds after this all went down, the door opened, revealing a woman who looked as frustrated as she felt right now. Though with the lack of a black eye or formerly bleeding nose, there was no way that their plight was identical as far as Lena was concerned.

The officer looked at the tea, still full, if not steaming anymore. "Didn't like your tea?"

Lena slowly pushed the cup across the table and folded her arms. "Don't like tea. I prefer coffee."

"Hmm." The officer got out a data pad and began typing on it. "Well, I can arrange that. Anything else we can get you to make your stay more comfortable? Bacon? Eggs? Toast?"

"Pancakes," Lena said. The copper lowered her pad and stared at her. "I like pancakes actually. Though since that's more of a breakfast thing, and it's now nearly ten, I'd actually like dinner. So, for an entrée, I'll have a…"

The copper pulled up the chair opposite her, and with a slow, exaggerated motion, sat down on it. And as hard as she tried to maintain her bravado, Lena couldn't manage it.

"Okay," she whispered. She began drumming her fingers on the table and looked at the mirror. "Okay, so we're doing that."

"Yep. We're doing that."

Lena looked back at the copper, who was back to the data pad. She didn't have to ask as to whether it was her file that was being looked up. But she did have to ask the burning question in the room.

"You know this is twaddle, right? Three assholes start beating up omnics, and I'm the one who's brought in?"

"The thugs will be brought to justice, don't worry," the woman murmured.

"Yeah? You ever hear about that? You think those omnics are going to come forward and give you a description?"

The woman said nothing, but Lena could see that she was getting to her. _Good, _she thought.

"Oxton, Lena," the copper murmured. "Interesting. Apart from that time with the cricket bat, you've never run into the law before."

Lena winced. The cricket bat. Why did everyone have to bring that up?

"But of course, the company you keep could do with some work," she continued. She shifted the file on the pad. "Swann, Emily. Apprehended for shoplifting from a Tom Parsons."

"What?" Lena whispered.

"Oh yes. Found in possession of jelly babies, jammy dodgers, beer, and magazines. Oddly not the kind of magazines that seventeen year old girls usually steal…"

"Sixteen," Lena whispered.

"…but it doesn't matter. Thievery is thievery." She got to her feet. "It's such a shame, really. When the police found the stuff in the backpack she was so forthcoming that she didn't steal it. But now we've got to contact her parents, and set up a trial, and-"

"I stole it," Lena blurted out.

The officer looked down at her.

"I stole it," she whispered. "I've…been doing it for awhile."

The copper, after a moment, began typing on the pad again. "Thought as much," she murmured.

Lena wanted to be angry that she'd been tricked. Angry at the copper, angry at herself, angry at Emily for being oh-so-perfect, for being a better friend than she deserved, but she couldn't. She just felt tired. And hungry. And in the need for some bloody coffee.

"Well then," the officer said. "You're free to go."

"I am?" she whispered.

"Well, you've got your dad and your girlfriend waiting to see you in the foyer. I'll let you decide whether that's a good thing or not." The woman walked over to the door, opened it, and waited for Lena to get up. "After you."

Lena couldn't move. Right now, staying in the interrogation room was more appealing than going out there to see her dad or her best friend. The former would yell at her. The latter, she'd have to look at in the knowledge that she'd been willing to ruin her life in place of hers.

"When I say after you, I mean get up and go so I can go home," the copper said.

Lena looked up at her. "Seriously?" she whispered.

"My shift was meant to end nineteen minutes ago, so, yes, seriously."

Lena took a breath, regretted it as pain shot through her ribs, and got to her feet. "So what now?" she murmured, as she headed for the door.

"Now, the law does its work. Police, judges, records, we get to see how far you'll be held back in life."

"Right. Of course." She headed for the door. "Well, thanks for that I guess."

"Actually…"

Lena stopped walking and looked at the copper. "Yes?"

"For what it's worth, I think it's B.S. as well," she said.

"B.S.?"

"Bullshit. Type of bullshit we've had to deal with for years. King's Row is a powder keg, and no-one's doing a damn thing. But you, tonight…you showed more of a spine than any of the rifle-toting twats that have taken these streets."

Lena blushed – she told herself it wasn't from pride. But that was hard to do, as the copper patted her on the shoulder.

"Keep it up Oxton. The world could always use more heroes."

She gave a sad smile. "I'm not a hero," she murmured.

"Give it time."

She lingered in the doorway, before heading out into the hall.

The smallest hints of a smile upon her lips.


End file.
